Going Up In Smoke
by Bellatrix-Breezy
Summary: It's not like it's her side of the bed, though, and she'll kill you if you call it that.


I.

Santana likes sleeping in her underwear. She's not sure why, but she's sure it started somewhere during her sophomore year of college. When she started sleeping at his house, though, she usually would wear one of his old t-shirts and curl up in his bed between the sheets.

It's not like it's _her_ side of the bed, though, and she'll kill you if you call it that. She just won't let him sleep on that side, or any other slut he should bring home. But it's not her side. She's just protective.

Finn likes that Santana sleeps in her underwear. There's nothing more sexy to him than sliding his hand beneath his Browns shirt to push it further up her stomach, and slipping one finger into the waistband of those barely-even-there purple lace panties she knows he loves, and just leaving it there.

She kind of likes that, too. Even though most of the time she's asleep when he does it; she still likes that he's so touchy with her. And she's never been one for touchy.

Finn likes it when he wakes up to an empty bed. The only reason, however, is because he knows she's in his kitchen making him breakfast. And sure, he panics for a second, especially when he sees that the sheets on her side – excuse me, the _opposite side_ – of the bed are turned down.

But he shouldn't, because she really _is_ downstairs in the kitchen. She's not cooking, though, because fuck that, he can do it himself if he's hungry. She's not one of those girls, and she knows he knows that so fuck him if he thinks he's getting some cheesy ass sausage and biscuits. Actually, she's sitting on the counter, dangling her legs as she flips through a newer issue of People.

She has his name tattooed on her ankle and, okay yeah, it sounded like a good idea when they were in Panama together last Spring. He got her name on his back, so it was only fair, right? She smiles without realizing it as she looks down and sees the four letters, in that odd shade of green, sitting there in that weird typewriter font, laying just above her ankle bone. God, it looks so good there. She doesn't know why she likes this, but she loves the way it flatters the veins in her feet. She's completely ignoring some story about Nicole Kidman now as she makes a mental note on how she desperately needs to repaint her toenails. They're black, and the paint is slightly chipped. Smirking, she turns back to her magazine and tells herself she'll make Finn do it later.

Yeah, okay, whatever. They're totally not dating.

They're just friends who live together and have each other's names tattooed somewhere on their bodies and she goes down on him every once in a while.

But they're not fucking dating.

Santana doesn't _do_ labels, and, after high school, Finn, like, bloomed. He got a physical trainer to be able to play for elite college football teams and keep his scholarship. That guy was a miracle worker. He turned Finn from this chunky high school football player turned glee club singer into this huge fucking hunk, with washboard abs and biceps the size of your head and big, thick shoulder blades that look _so_ fucking good with her name on one of them.

I guess you could say that, yeah, he's totally her type. And she definitely doesn't have anything bad to say about how he looks with his head between her legs. But she won't admit that to him unless his dick is inside of her. Which, by the way, is insanely thick and fills her completely and she just absolutely loves it.

He always wakes up so much later than she does, though, and she rolls her eyes when she hears him dragging his feet into the kitchen two hours after she left their – excuse me – _his _bed. He makes this tired grunting sound as he passes her and yanks open the fridge, and she laughs at the way she already knew he'd pull out a beer first thing in the morning.

Yeah, she would've guessed a red bull at first, but then she remembered there was a Bears game on last night, and, let's just say it gets kind of wild when those things happen.

"Morning, sunshine," she chimes, slapping her magazine down on the marble beside her. He grunts and settles himself between her parted legs, rests his tired forehead on her shoulder. She wants to smile at how ridiculously dorky their mornings are, if this weren't the most intimate thing she'd ever encountered without some form of penetration.

.

They watch football together and, yeah, big deal, she kind of loves it. Especially when he grabs them both a couple beers and lifts her legs up off the couch long enough to sit down and rest them in his lap.

It's a Packers game and Santana really hates the Packers, and pretty much football in general, but she's kind of amused by their colors – like something you'd find in a tissue, not on a cheerleading uniform. When she tells Finn this, he only rolls his eyes and looks at her skeptically as he sips his beer.

She sighs and picks at her nails as she tries to understand what the hell the caster is talking about. She knows about football from her years in high school, yeah, but since when did people take it so seriously? She's counted about eight crazed fans with green and yellow painted beer bellies during crowd pans and she's about to be sick. Some girls aren't even wearing anything, they just have shit painted over their nipples and cunts. It's disgusting. Seriously, why would you even _do_ something like that? It's just fucking football. Chances are, they're gonna fucking lose anyway, so you wasted all your goddamn time and money on all that paint and those cheap, hand-woven pompoms.

She's bored now.

It's somewhere during the third quarter and she hates that some stupid douchebag keeps calling time-out and making this agony longer for her.

Finn nearly chokes on his beer when he feels her foot sliding up and down his thigh and he clears his throat as he tries to focus on the game. Yeah, Finn, a plasma TV is a lot more important than the insanely hot girl kneading your leg muscle with her foot, which just so happens to have your name on it. Permanently.

He groans from the back of his throat and she giggles childishly, ceasing her movements to slide over to him. Her lips go to his neck and his hand goes to the back of her head and she moans against his pulse point as her palm brushes over his hard length, throbbing beneath his basketball shorts.

Yeah, she kind of loves what she does to him.

.

It's Christmas.

He invites her to his mom's house, and he tells himself the only reason he wants her to go is because she doesn't have any family to go home to.

She doesn't believe him.

He doesn't believe him.

She spends the night laughing with his family, and when he laces their fingers together during one of Burt's hunting stories, she doesn't push him away. He likes that.

During dinner, Kurt and Blaine eagerly announce that they've finally sorted out adoption papers and their little bundle of joy will be in their arms in less than a month. Carole nearly screams with joy and lunges toward the boys, nearly choking them with her death grip. Santana's doubled over from laughter into Finn's lap as Burt tries to pry his sobbing wife off his son. She's never seen her so happy, not since the wedding. She kind of likes how it makes her feel.

They open presents, and Santana's kind of surprised that she has one from Carole and Burt.

She has to bite her lip to keep from crying as she gently tears the wrapping paper, revealing a small box. Her eyes widen as they're met with a shiny gold bracelet with her name on it, and Carole smiles at her understandingly.

She can't believe how much she loves Finn's family.

Burt gets new hunting gear, and Finn can't stop laughing at the way he bounces in his recliner at the thought of getting out in the woods the next morning. Carole gets new jewelry, and her eyes become ten shades lighter when she slips those dangly earrings into her earlobes.

Santana jokes about how much she wants to hurl when Blaine gives his gift to Kurt, a baby blanket he hand stitched for the arrival of their little one come January. They both laugh and roll their eyes at her, but she can't help but notice the sad look on Finn's face when the family begins discussing baby names.

She asks him about it while they're alone in the kitchen, teasing the dishes. He sadly scrapes some type of gunk off a plate and looks so pitiful that she wants to laugh, but she doesn't because she feels this is serious, and not one of their 'I'm gonna pretend to be sad so the sex is better' type things.

"I just," he sighs, running a wet hand through his already mussed hair, "I kind of wanted to give my parents their first grandkid."

Her eyebrows rise and she looks at him sympathetically.

"You know? I wanted to be the one my mom obsessively hugs and, and cries and clings to and, and talks about baby names with and…" he's cut off because she pulls him into a hug, her tiny arms wrapped tightly and protectively around his waist. He's startled at first, but then wraps his arms around her in return and bumps his nose against the top of her head.

She kind of just wants him to be happy.

.

He tells her he loves her after drunken sex on New Year's Eve.

She blames the alcohol and pretends she didn't hear him.

He doesn't bring it up again.

.

She goes grocery shopping with him one morning, and she tells him it's just because she watched a Lifetime movie last night and doesn't feel like being alone this morning. He just laughs and lets her sit on the handle of the cart he's pushing and he's surprised she's light enough so that it doesn't tip over.

He decides against telling her this.

What girl wants to hear that her tiny weight surprises her boyfr– person she lives with?

Her pout is incredibly adorable when he won't let her get more Wheat Thins. He insists that she only eats them because she thinks she needs to lose weight and he repeatedly tells her she's the tiniest person he knows and she definitely doesn't need to get any tinier. He's paranoid because a year ago, he heard her throwing up in the bathroom after dinner one night. She promised she'd never do it again. He wants to believe her.

She's still sitting on the handle of the cart when he wheels them to the cashier, who smiles at them and says something about how cute it is when newlyweds come into her grocery store. Santana blushes and looks away, and Finn reluctantly corrects her. Normally, he wouldn't. But he knows Santana will bitch at him all the way home in the car if he doesn't.

He hates that he has to.

.

She finally gets her Wheat Thins the next time they go shopping after some serious persuading, and he's startled when she reaches for his belt the second they get home.

She blows him on the couch and, usually she'll swallow, but when he comes, she's holding a tiny cracker to him, smirking as his sticky warmth coats it. He watches her in awe as she pops it into her mouth and crunches down on it as she climbs next to him and curls her hand under his arm.

"Told you you'd like the way I eat Wheat Thins."

.

Finn gets a call in the middle of the night from Carole, who's crying so hard into the phone Burt has to take it from her and explain.

When Finn sits up suddenly and Santana feels the blankets shift and pool around his waist, she sits up with him and rubs his shoulder as his face twists somewhere between angry, hurt, and guarded. He hangs up the phone and angrily tosses it to the floor, immediately standing up. She watches him curiously as he slides a pair of jeans over his boxers and rushes to the closet to find a shirt.

"Finn, what's going on?" she asks tiredly, her voice thick with sleep and curiosity.

"It's Blaine and Kurt," he mutters, slipping on a black v-neck and rushing to find his shoes. When he does, he sits at the end of the bed and ties them onto his feet, Santana wraps her arms around his neck and is startled when he pushes her away. "The baby they were adopting," he says as he stands, "It… she… they were at the hospital and the teenage slut was giving birth, and something happened and the baby, she…"

Santana slides out of bed with an expression of worry, Finn's Bears t-shirt so big on her that it ends mid-thigh, and she walks up to him to encourage him to explain.

"She, uh, she… the baby's dead." He concedes, and a tiny gasp is eluded from Santana's lips before she wraps her arms around Finn's neck, her heels coming off the carpet.

He's still too completely stung to feel, so he just places a hand on the small of her back and rubs her there softly.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. Like it's her fault.

She convinces him to let her go with him to the hospital, even though he accidently yells that it's not her family. She's hurt, oh God, she's hurt by that. But she doesn't want him to know that. He already has enough to deal with. Even though he knows she is. He regrets it, but he decides the silent car ride on the way back to Lima, Ohio –where his brother and his brother's husband's daughter just passed away – is definitely not the best place to discuss _their_ ghosts.

Carole throws her arms over Finn's neck when they rush into the waiting room, and Burt, who is trying so hard not to cry, wraps his arms around Santana. They're accompanied by the teenage girl's family, who are just as upset about this as it was an open adoption, and Kurt is crying into the wall while Blaine rubs his back soothingly with his face buried in his hair. Burt takes Finn aside to explain some things and Carole tearfully approaches Santana, sits beside her and takes her hand.

"I'm so lucky Finn found you, sweetheart." She whispers, and Santana's eyes well up with tears. She opens her mouth to say something, but she's pulled into a tight hug instead.

God, she just really loves his family.

.

She tells him she loves him when they get home and are settled in bed and he's crying softly into her shoulder.

He's on top of her, but for the first time, they're not having sex, she's just got her arms around him.

He hears her, and nods to let her know that, before he whispers it back.

.

He keeps to himself for a while, and she doesn't like it. She's not used to them not talking and they haven't even fooled around since before this whole tragedy happened. She approaches him about it one evening and he just yells at her, tells her it's not his fault and she should stop thinking about sex all the time, and slams the door to his room.

He doesn't come out.

She sleeps on the couch for the first time since the night she moved in.

.

When he apologizes, she's asleep on the couch on her back, the sheets she'd managed to take from the guest bedroom are pooled onto the floor and she's wearing one of _her_ shirts for the first time. It's a dainty little white tank top that emphasizes the swell of her breasts and he climbs on top of her, resting his hands on either side of the couch as he looks down at her.

She wakes up to his lips on her collar bone and his palms sliding beneath her tank top and she looks up at him when he cups her breast and squeezes it gently, whispering his apology into her neck. Her eyes flutter closed when his hand pushes the fabric of her panties aside and the cold air of their – _his _house – hits her most sensitive area. She moans softly when she feels him slip into her and he's pumping within her before she can even accept his apology.

Their breathing increases together and he kisses her forehead as he swells inside of her and she lifts her hips to meet his thrusts each time.

It's gentle and loving and apologetic, not like their other times and when he lets go inside of her, she unravels beneath him and whispers his name as her eyes roll back and her walls clench around him and he stays inside of her long after he's collapsed on top of her, and they fall asleep like that, with her index finger tracing her own name on his shoulder blade.

.

A few weeks pass.

They don't talk much about what happened to Kurt and Blaine. They don't talk much about anything anymore. Sometimes they talk about the weather, sometimes she asks him what's for dinner, but they don't talk much about anything anymore.

She misses her Finn.

.

He hears her throwing up when he passes the bathroom one afternoon after work. He assumes she doesn't think he's home, and anger courses through his veins when he realizes she broke her promise to him to get help for her bulimia.

He's so mad. After what happened, she still wants to fucking do this? To him?

How could she?

He has half a mind to kick open the door and yank her head out of the toilet and scold her for her immature actions. He wants to, so fucking bad.

He shakes his head in disbelief when she opens the door and wipes the corner of her mouth and her eyes widen and she freezes when she notices him and he folds his arms accusingly and rushes to his room, locking the door behind him.

Fuck.

She follows him and bangs her fist on the door, but he's ignoring her as he sits on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees and face in his hands.

"Finn, open the fucking door!" she yells, anger seeping from her own voice. How could he even think that's what she was doing? She hurt herself like that before, sure, but she'd never do that to him again. She wouldn't do that to _herself_ again. Especially after she fucking _promised_ him.

Her tiny fists raps against the door even more and she's yelling through tears now, her voice thick and pleading. She wants to cry. She wants someone to just hold her. Why can't he just fucking hold her?

"Finn, please!" she sobs, her body shaking as she slides down against the door and pulls her knees to her chest. She feels her stomach muscles beginning to twist and churn within her and bile rises up in her throat as she throws a hand to her mouth and runs to the bathroom again.

He can hear faint coughing and splattering coming from the bathroom once he finally opens the door.

It only takes him a minute before he realizes she's pregnant.

.

II.


End file.
